Redemption
by Rei Kiri
Summary: A few years after the war, and Draco has lost everything - his family, his property, and his dignity. DracoXHermione.
1. Prologue

**A/N: **Yet another fanfiction in the HP fandom! Although, I do see them disappearing, little by little... Getting a little tired of it, and a little too much into the FMA fandom. Anyway! This one is a request from a friend, which is why it's so different than my usual line of Harry/Draco. Hope it'd come out good!

I am putting every effort in making it worth your time :)

I would like to thank my friend Dayra for beta-ing it, and at least stripping it from grammatical mistakes.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or anything about it. That's all Rowling's problem, not mine:P

**ENJOY!**

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**REDEMPTION - Prologue**

"Petrificus Totalus!"

_Well, shit,_ he thought as he felt himself losing control over his body, his muscles refusing to do what he desperately ordered them to – to run the hell out of there. But he knew that spell far too well to have any hope of freeing himself from the stunner, and therefore any hope of escaping this unfortunate situation. He was forced to watch the armed wizards approaching him, forced to feel their grip on his body and how one of them rolled him to lay on his stomach and moved both his hands to his back, then he could feel something metallic against his skin and he knew he was cuffed, and next he felt his wand being drawn from beneath his fingers. He swore mentally for his helplessness at this situation.

Only after his captives have made sure he could do them no harm, they freed him from the curse.

"Do you know why we arrested you?" He heard someone saying as he struggled to get up on his feet. He finally managed to, and tilted his head to get his too long blond hair out of his eyes. Gee, that was getting annoying, he thought to himself. Well, maybe now he'd be able to get a decent hair cut. He grinned bitterly.

"I assume it has something to do with the store I just robbed a couple of streets back."

The officer in front of him, a heavy looking man with dark brown hair, gave an agreeing kind of noise. "Very right," he said. "I will add that to the protocol as a confession. Are you aware of your rights as a prisoner?"

"You bloody bet I do," having a father like his, seeing all the things he saw, Draco had to. There was no escaping it.

"Very well then. We will now take you to the Ministry, where we will hold you until your trial. Your wand, of course, is confiscated, and you're forbidden from – "

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Just get me the hell out of here, it's freezing cold!"

**TBC**

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**A/N: **Yeah I know that was way too short to be worthy of publication, but that's only the prologue. First chapter will be up very soon, and it has a little more dept from this thing.

I hope you liked it anyway and that it made anyone want to read a little more...

Either way, I would really appreciate it if you review it after reading, it really helps me keep going and knowing what was good and what was bad.

Thank you for your time :)


	2. Chapter 1 - The Trial

**A/N: **First chapter is up! I would like, once again, to apologize for the length of the Prologue. But it really was just a prologue, and as you can see the chapters themselves are a little bit longer. I hope it's good, but I can't judge myself^^"

I would like to thank my friend Dayra for beta-ing it, and at least stripping it from grammatical mistakes.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or anything about it. That's all Rowling's problem, not mine:P

**ENJOY!**

* * *

**First Chapter – The Trial**

The chair at the Wizengamot was uncomfortable, and Draco's behind ached as he was forced to sit there longer and longer. He got used to the seats of public transportation or coffee houses where he tried to force the time to pass by. His delicate muscles have gotten used to the luxury he was living in while his family still owned Malfoy Manor, already so long ago, before the bloody war took everything from him. Not even when he was forced to move around, not knowing where he will be able to lay his head and rest at night, if at all, years' worth of habits he acquired while living in his family's house didn't change. The bed of the cellar he was thrown into after he got arrested, however, was a refreshing change. Way better than benches, warehouse floors, or pavements he found himself sleeping on countless times, even though it wasn't as good as the beds of the inns he sometimes was able to afford – if he had an especially good night of stealing, robbing or pick pocketing. However, those times were rare. So rare he could remember each time and count them using only the fingers on his two hands during the unbearably long three years since his mother passed away. More often than not, he found himself starving for food, unable to buy even the simplest of nourishment, picking leftovers he sometimes found or attempting to steal something. His mother abandoned him in her insanity, leaving him with nothing but his father's debts to the country that he could not pay, since he was stuck, driven to lunacy behind the thick walls of Azkaban prison. Besides his mother there was no one around for him; his entire family had been either arrested or dead, and now, after being able to be on the run from authorities since he was seventeen he was about to follow in his family's footsteps.

It wasn't that he wanted to be captured; sure, it was way more comfortable than the life he was leading up to now. But he needed his freedom. Being locked up wasn't his style. He had to suffer enough of the prison life when his father was still the head of the family; being forced to do whatever he was told, believe whatever he was told and never, ever complain. He learned that the hard way when he was a kid, and even now, as a full grown adult, this quality was an integral part of who he was. He was spoiled, all right, but he didn't complain once when he was thrown to the streets heartlessly by the people who came to collect their share of Lucius' leftovers in the name of his debt to society for the sins he committed. Draco never understood why _he_ was the one to pay, but he did his best to stay alive, refusing to be weak like his mother was and determined to survive and maybe, someday, somehow, be able to _live_ again.

Now, he was sitting in the glorified hall that held all the wizarding trials, the same place that condemned his father to a lifetime of being locked up in that horrible place with no option of redemption. The same place most of his friends and acquaintances found their way into that horrible place after the Dark Lord died by his own hands and because of his own carelessness and stupidity. Draco knew he'd never forgive that wizard for robbing him of his life, but there was nothing he could do to avenge himself. It was all too late now, has been too late for very long now.

He tore himself from his grim thoughts, forcing himself into the dark reality he currently lived in. He toyed with the thought of what will happen to him now. Was his sin great enough to send him in his father's steps? Will fate be cruel enough to force him to face the man whose mistake doomed his tiny family to devastation, to show his own weakness and failure to the one man he wanted to prove he could be better, stronger, smarter? He chuckled bitterly at the idea, shaking his head in disbelief. No, there was no God spiteful enough. True, he wasn't a great example of good behavior, but he didn't deserve _that_, he was sure. Either way, people got into Azkaban for mass murder, for crimes against the Ministry itself; no one will bother getting his worthless ass into that place. Stealing and robbing were small crimes. He never killed anyone. No, they probably wouldn't even spare him a thought, won't bother listening to his none existing line of defense before throwing him into some low class cell, with three meals a day, some stupid rehabilitation activity and communal showers along with the other minor criminals. No one would care why he did what he did. No one would soften their heart at the hell he'd been through, being orphaned on the edge of adulthood – old enough so no place would accept him, lost and young enough to not be able to support himself. Truth was, it was a dead end for him either way; even if his mother still lived, she probably won't be able to support him and he would have ended up in the same place anyway. The only thing that could have prevented all of this was being born somewhere else, or being wise enough to accept the offer of protection Dumbledore offered, back when he was still sixteen. He refused it then, still too proud to admit he was wrong and too terrified to declare his father as wrong. Served him right, his arrogance.

"Malfoy, Draco!"

The sound of his own name, a pair of words he hadn't heard spoken to him in so long, awoke him from this new train of gloomy thoughts. He looked up as he was being forced to stand up, then led him towards another chair, one that stood in the centre of the hall, facing the strict line of wizards who were about to set his fate for the next few years, probably without knowing anything about him except his belonging to the notorious Malfoy family.

He didn't say a word as the prosecution read out his (known) crimes, starting with the robbery he'd been caught at and ending with some other robbery cases in which the culprit suited his description. He was probably rightfully accused of these last ones, but he'd be damned if he could keep track of the times he was forced to turn to this last resort. So many times his emotions became numb, and he couldn't care less about the people he was raiding of their just possessions.

"What do you have to say in your defense?" the head judge asked him, although from the tone of his voice Draco already knew that no matter what he had to say, it was pointless. Even if he did care and had bothered to come up with excuses, the prosecution would just dismiss them, rendering them pointless, and his verdict would remain the same.

So he let out a sigh, and kept his expression indifferent. "Nothing, sir."

"Do you admit these crimes?" _these and many more,_ Draco thought bitterly, but he didn't express that thought out loud, still smart enough to know it will only make things worse. He simply nodded instead. "So you plead guilty?" The judge seemed rather surprised, as if he didn't think it would be that easy to get a confession out of the young man.

"I don't have many choices, now do I?" he answered coldly. "I was caught at the crime scene."

"Watch your tongue, lad. This is a court, not your circle of friends," the judge informed him. Like he didn't know that; he didn't _have_ a circle of friends anymore. There was a moment's pause, as if they were letting him some time to retort, but he did not. "Very well. We will discuss your verdict, taking into consideration your easy admission. Guards, guide him back to his cell until we finish our debate on the matter."

With these simple words, two sets of strong arms, stronger than he'd been even when he was eating properly and playing Quidditch, held onto him and forced him up from his chair. He murmured something about the use of unnecessary force and a potential lawsuit at the bruises his delicate skin would show as a result but was ruthlessly silenced before he was hauled back to the cell where he spent his last three nights. It was the most time he'd spent in any one place recently, and it was already almost tempting to call it "home"; almost, but he wasn't that desperate just yet.

He was called back into the large hall not even thirty minutes later. The _click! _of a lock being unlocked tore him from the shallow sleep he had managed to drift into, and he lazily opened his eyes to see the guard signaling him to get up and follow him. Draco did so, sluggishly throwing his legs to the side of the bed and forcing himself up before he dragged himself out, pausing when the guard delayed to lock the door again. The blond looked at him from behind, his Slytherin mind coming up with cunning plans to escape, knowing that even though his hands were tied and he was deprived of his only weapon – his wand – it would still be relatively easy to get away. The guard didn't seem trained enough to deal with an unexpected attack. Draco almost seriously considered going with it, but the acknowledgment that he'd probably be caught no longer than a few minutes after the deed, brought back to his cell with his actions reported to the judges, and the obvious outcome of his punishment being worse than originally planned stopped him. It wasn't really worth it, he thought, as the guard turned again and led him through the corridors. There was too much to lose, and too little a chance of gaining anything.

The great doors opened for him and the guard gestured for him to step inside. He was led – by a different officer – towards the centre of the hall again, only this time there was no chair for him to sit in. He stood there, facing the panel of judges with expressionless face. Whatever they had to say, he wasn't going to like it, and there would probably be nothing he could do about it.

"Malfoy Lucius Draco."

The sound of his full name, containing the name of the father who brought him this low, burned his ears. He grimaced at the ring of it.

"We have debated on your case, and found you guilty of several robberies. However," Draco looked up, his right eyebrow arched up. _However?_ "We took into consideration your circumstances, your confession and your young age, and we've decided not to imprison you. Instead, you are to do communal service for four months, ten hours a day, amounted to one thousand hours in total, at a shelter for abandoned children. Your service will start tomorrow morning. You will be escorted from your cell to the location, where you will be given the rest of the instructions. Court dismissed," the judge announced, and hit the table with a little gavel, therefore ending the meeting. The same guard that got him there grabbed his arm and led him back to his cell.

This time, Draco was too astonished to resist or say anything to protest the amount of force with which he was being dealt. Community service? Him? A Malfoy? To work with little kids? Who was the genius to come up with that plan? And what the hell would they expect him to do, a homeless man with absolutely no experience with children and a none existing example of fatherhood or correct behavior around young children?

It wasn't what he was expecting, not even close. He thought he was looking at years in prison, not four months of dealing with kids. Not that he was about to complain; assuming he was going to receive some sort of accommodation, it was way better than any other possible outcome from this unfortunate encounter with the police.

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The morning followed his sleepless night. He was restless from wondering what would happen to him if he messed up, which was very likely to happen. More than that – he worried what might happen if he _won't_ mess this up. After four months, what was going to happen? Will they send him back to the streets on his own? Will everything go back to the way it was before, with him forced to turn to last resorts to get something to eat, eventually being caught again, and the whole routine would occur again?

The door to his cell was opened, and a ruthless voice ordered him to get up and get his ass out of there. Still wearing the prison clothing (his own clothes were way too torn to be worn again; he actually was thankful when he received the set provided to the prisoners and was ordered to take a shower. He was tired of looking so bad and smelling like his worse nightmares) he got up and followed the officer out. He was surprised they checked him out of the prison, and even more surprised when he was handed a brand new, clean set of clothes that were unrelated to the jail.

"Get dressed. We can't let the children see the person who's supposed to be their example looking like that. You have half an hour to look presentable; you have everything you need in the shower over there," he was pushed into a small room, looking around him to realize it was a shower room, equipped with shampoo and a razor to shave, as well as a soap and a towel. Of course, they wouldn't let him use magic yet. He wasn't sure he knew how to shave using a razor, but he could give it a shot. Even a few wounds were better than the thick hair he had grown on his face, and he'd love to lose it and be smooth again, like he was years ago.

He used everything that he was given, lingering on every moment he had in the shower. When he stepped out thirty minutes later, he felt like a new person. He wasn't this clean or this good smelling in over a year; perhaps even longer than that. Even when he could spend a night at an inn he usually didn't have the luxury of shampoo, forced to be satisfied with poor quality soap and, most of the time, ice cold water he could barely survive in longer than five minutes, just long enough to wash most of the filth off him. Now, being shaved (and surprisingly without any wounds), his hair cleaned from its dirt and greasiness, and wearing civilized clothes, he felt more like he did years ago when he had a home.

The guard cuffed his hands again, and led him out, looking rather satisfied with Draco's appearance. Once outside of the Ministry, he was almost immediately tucked into a car with darkened windows. He didn't even bother looking outside, too lost in his own thoughts to care where he was taken, but more busy with thinking about the future. When the car pulled to a stop and his door opened, he was surprised that not such a long time has passed that until they arrived at their destination; or maybe that shelter place wasn't far from the Ministry; either way, he didn't really care.

He was forced out of the car, and, looking around, he found himself standing in a street of a rather nice looking neighborhood. There were several houses with decent sized gardens spread down the road. He was standing in front of a house that didn't look so different from the others, except there were more child related facilities in the garden; a couple of swings, a slide, and some sort of climbing wall he was unfamiliar with. The sight brought sadness to his heart, remembering the time he was a little boy and how he wanted to escape the limits of the mansion, how he longed to play outside, to feel the wind brushing against his skin and mussing his hair. But he was never allowed to. His father was very strict; learn, do your duties, and serve. That was his life as a child – except for the rare occasion when his father was out long enough for Narcissa to have the courage to take him outside; then he enjoyed it, treasuring every stolen moment of real childhood.

The sound of a door opening, and then the loud voices of kids laughing and rushing outside tore him from his grim memories, and he glanced up. The man at his side spoke.

"These kids are all Muggle born."

Draco swallowed. Was it some kind of sick joke? No matter how much time has passed, no matter that they lost the war that he didn't even believed in, he was still raised to hate Mudbloods and think of them as inferior to him. The judges knew that; obviously they did. His name and features, no matter how destroyed by rough times, gave it away immediately. So _this_ was why his punishment was so light… they were trying to re-educate him. Well, fuck.

"Their parents abandoned them at the first signs of magic, too scared to hold onto their own child. This is where we step in, collect them and bring them here," he gestured at the house with the kid-filled garden. "Their ages vary, from six to eleven when they go to Hogwarts. We give them shelter, teach them about our world, and educate them to be human beings."

Draco frowned. What did he have to do with that? He wasn't fit to deal with abandoned children. Especially not Muggleborns.

"We have a supervisor here, she would explain everything I couldn't and will guide you through with these kids. She's very talented, and very smart. She has a good heart, and I'm sure she'll gladly help you with anything you need. I'll call her," he said, and was about to turn from him when he paused. "Almost forgot," he said, and with a single word released his hands from the cuffs. Draco was surprised; even though he was sentenced to help a bunch of mudbloods, he was still a criminal. Weren't they afraid he'd try to escape? But then the man said another spell word and a bracelet appeared on Draco's wrist, looking more like a piece of jewelry than something prisoner-related. "Don't bother trying to run away, Malfoy. This thing will let the Ministry know if you're making any foul move, and will guide us right to you in such a case. You'd better behave. You got off easy, anyway. There are many people in the ministry who would love to see you locked up where your father is, but the judge decided this was a more fit punishment… it's beyond me why, but I'm not going to argue. But I am warning you – one wrong step and no one will have any mercy to spare for you. Wait right here," he added, and without waiting for any kind of response from Draco he walked away.

Great. So now he was marked. He examined the piece of metal on his wrist. It was nothing special, but it felt cold and annoying against his skin. It was a delicate way to imprison him, but useful nonetheless. He was sure they won't be stupid enough to hand him his wand back, at least not before those damned four months ended, and the spell that kept it intact was probably strong enough and complicated enough so that no one except the authorized personnel would be able to remove it. He didn't like that, he didn't like feeling… _owned_.

He looked up from his bracelet when he heard footsteps drawing near to see two figures – one was the guard from the Ministry, and the other was a young woman with bushy hair. There was something familiar about her, but she was still too far from him to attach a name to that figure.

"Mr. Malfoy, meet out project manager, Miss Hermione Granger. She will be in charge of you from now on, until you fulfill the amount of time you're supposed to. Hermione, good luck, and thank you for doing this. If he misbehaves let the Ministry know immediately, although he had been warned to behave. Good bye."

The man gave a last glance at Draco before he advanced towards the car that brought them there, but the blond didn't even notice him.

_No. Fucking. Way._ He thought to himself, and knew his disdain was probably more than just visible on his face. Out of all the people in the world – Granger. The mudblood, Granger. The girl who, despite being a Muggleborn, outsmarted him in almost every subject at school simply because she was a bloody book worm. Granger, the teachers' pet and Potter's best friend. Despite the common sense that told him endlessly it was his father fault, Draco could never shake the feeling that if it wasn't for Potter, his family would still be intact. He would still have a living mother who loved him, and a (somewhat) sane father who probably loved him, in his own twisted way. He'd still have a home to live in; a roof over his head, a comfortable bed to rest his body, and enough food to nourish his body. If it wasn't for Potter, he'd still have his life, and he wouldn't have to face that girl – who was now a grown woman – in the lowest moment of his life, given at her mercy.

"What had the war done to you?" he heard her ask. Her voice was just as he remembered, but was adorned with a fine line of knowledge that could come only with age. He had grown, but stayed the same, if not retreated. She, on the other hand, was in a better place in her life. A manager of what seemed to be an important Ministry project. She was probably making good money, perhaps having a family – at the age of twenty three, he wouldn't be surprised if she already had a child of her own.

Stubbornly, perhaps more so than he was used to be during the last few years, and with his arrogance being invoked back into life as it was when he was still a teenager at school, he narrowed his eyes at her. "Here to mock me, Granger?" he spat, and saw her expression change from one of worry to that of cold distance.

"Here to tell you what to do. See these kids?" she gestured at the garden behind her, where the children were still happily playing. "They were abandoned, because of people like _you_, just from the other side. People who were too scared of something they _didn't know_," the blame in her voice was clear like the sun on a bright summer day. "And now they're here, and two women who are working here and I are their only parents. It would be your job to make them feel _wanted_," she emphasized the word, and he frowned at that. "And loved. We teach them about magic, so I expect you to do your part. Who knows, maybe your stuck up lineage might actually work for our advantage here, as you can teach them about living in a magical family. You will be here ten hours a day, with one day off a week, approximately. I understand you don't really have where to stay, is that right?"

She was looking at him, but Draco couldn't bring himself to admit that. Her presence brought back his school days, along with the arrogance, pride and hatred he possessed then. "That's none of your business," he spat at her, his words bitingly cold.

"You might want it to be my business, as I was just about to tell you about your new home." She wasn't taken aback even one bit by his behavior, which surprised the blond. He was expecting her to lose her temper easily, to slap him, to tell him to fuck off and call the cops to take him back to prison, where he belonged. But she didn't; her patience was amazing, leaving him at loss of words. She reached into her pocket, pulling something out and handing it to him. Draco frowned, examining it carefully. "It's a key to a hotel room. The Ministry guards will escort you there when your work here is done, and will bring you here the next morning. I assume they already told you there's no point in trying to escape, right?" she gestured at the silvery jewelry on his wrist. "So let's get to work. Don't move from my side and listen to everything I say, either to you or to the children. You're not going to be glued to me the entire time you're here, and there's a lot of work to do. Am I making myself clear?"

Annoyed, Draco's mouth clenched to a thin line before he felt he had enough control not to punch her, wishing he could hex her and swearing in his heart for the lack of his wand. "Sure, boss." She would have been an idiot not to hear the cynical tone of his voice, though he knew she wasn't one; but she ignored it altogether.

She nodded and turned, guiding him towards the garden. _What a horrible nightmare,_ Draco thought as he followed her against his will. He was almost sure he'd prefer being locked up in Azkaban than doing _this_. Almost.

**END OF FIRST CHAPTER**

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**A/N:** Thanks for reading and getting all the way to the end! Hope it wasn't too tiring...

Please let me know in the reviews what you thought of it, for better or worse. It helps me keep going, and I always read and take whatever is said into account. Thank you!


	3. Chapter 2 - Trust

**A/N: **First chapter is up! I would like, once again, to apologize for the length of the Prologue. But it really was just a prologue, and as you can see the chapters themselves are a little bit longer. I hope it's good, but I can't judge myself^^"

I would like to thank my friend Dayra for beta-ing it, and at least stripping it from grammatical mistakes.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter or anything about it. That's all Rowling's problem, not mine:P

**ENJOY!**

* * *

**First Chapter – The Trial**

The chair at the Wizengamot was uncomfortable, and Draco's behind ached as he was forced to sit there longer and longer. He got used to the seats of public transportation or coffee houses where he tried to force the time to pass by. His delicate muscles have gotten used to the luxury he was living in while his family still owned Malfoy Manor, already so long ago, before the bloody war took everything from him. Not even when he was forced to move around, not knowing where he will be able to lay his head and rest at night, if at all, years' worth of habits he acquired while living in his family's house didn't change. The bed of the cellar he was thrown into after he got arrested, however, was a refreshing change. Way better than benches, warehouse floors, or pavements he found himself sleeping on countless times, even though it wasn't as good as the beds of the inns he sometimes was able to afford – if he had an especially good night of stealing, robbing or pick pocketing. However, those times were rare. So rare he could remember each time and count them using only the fingers on his two hands during the unbearably long three years since his mother passed away. More often than not, he found himself starving for food, unable to buy even the simplest of nourishment, picking leftovers he sometimes found or attempting to steal something. His mother abandoned him in her insanity, leaving him with nothing but his father's debts to the country that he could not pay, since he was stuck, driven to lunacy behind the thick walls of Azkaban prison. Besides his mother there was no one around for him; his entire family had been either arrested or dead, and now, after being able to be on the run from authorities since he was seventeen he was about to follow in his family's footsteps.

It wasn't that he wanted to be captured; sure, it was way more comfortable than the life he was leading up to now. But he needed his freedom. Being locked up wasn't his style. He had to suffer enough of the prison life when his father was still the head of the family; being forced to do whatever he was told, believe whatever he was told and never, ever complain. He learned that the hard way when he was a kid, and even now, as a full grown adult, this quality was an integral part of who he was. He was spoiled, all right, but he didn't complain once when he was thrown to the streets heartlessly by the people who came to collect their share of Lucius' leftovers in the name of his debt to society for the sins he committed. Draco never understood why _he_ was the one to pay, but he did his best to stay alive, refusing to be weak like his mother was and determined to survive and maybe, someday, somehow, be able to _live_ again.

Now, he was sitting in the glorified hall that held all the wizarding trials, the same place that condemned his father to a lifetime of being locked up in that horrible place with no option of redemption. The same place most of his friends and acquaintances found their way into that horrible place after the Dark Lord died by his own hands and because of his own carelessness and stupidity. Draco knew he'd never forgive that wizard for robbing him of his life, but there was nothing he could do to avenge himself. It was all too late now, has been too late for very long now.

He tore himself from his grim thoughts, forcing himself into the dark reality he currently lived in. He toyed with the thought of what will happen to him now. Was his sin great enough to send him in his father's steps? Will fate be cruel enough to force him to face the man whose mistake doomed his tiny family to devastation, to show his own weakness and failure to the one man he wanted to prove he could be better, stronger, smarter? He chuckled bitterly at the idea, shaking his head in disbelief. No, there was no God spiteful enough. True, he wasn't a great example of good behavior, but he didn't deserve _that_, he was sure. Either way, people got into Azkaban for mass murder, for crimes against the Ministry itself; no one will bother getting his worthless ass into that place. Stealing and robbing were small crimes. He never killed anyone. No, they probably wouldn't even spare him a thought, won't bother listening to his none existing line of defense before throwing him into some low class cell, with three meals a day, some stupid rehabilitation activity and communal showers along with the other minor criminals. No one would care why he did what he did. No one would soften their heart at the hell he'd been through, being orphaned on the edge of adulthood – old enough so no place would accept him, lost and young enough to not be able to support himself. Truth was, it was a dead end for him either way; even if his mother still lived, she probably won't be able to support him and he would have ended up in the same place anyway. The only thing that could have prevented all of this was being born somewhere else, or being wise enough to accept the offer of protection Dumbledore offered, back when he was still sixteen. He refused it then, still too proud to admit he was wrong and too terrified to declare his father as wrong. Served him right, his arrogance.

"Malfoy, Draco!"

The sound of his own name, a pair of words he hadn't heard spoken to him in so long, awoke him from this new train of gloomy thoughts. He looked up as he was being forced to stand up, then led him towards another chair, one that stood in the centre of the hall, facing the strict line of wizards who were about to set his fate for the next few years, probably without knowing anything about him except his belonging to the notorious Malfoy family.

He didn't say a word as the prosecution read out his (known) crimes, starting with the robbery he'd been caught at and ending with some other robbery cases in which the culprit suited his description. He was probably rightfully accused of these last ones, but he'd be damned if he could keep track of the times he was forced to turn to this last resort. So many times his emotions became numb, and he couldn't care less about the people he was raiding of their just possessions.

"What do you have to say in your defense?" the head judge asked him, although from the tone of his voice Draco already knew that no matter what he had to say, it was pointless. Even if he did care and had bothered to come up with excuses, the prosecution would just dismiss them, rendering them pointless, and his verdict would remain the same.

So he let out a sigh, and kept his expression indifferent. "Nothing, sir."

"Do you admit these crimes?" _these and many more,_ Draco thought bitterly, but he didn't express that thought out loud, still smart enough to know it will only make things worse. He simply nodded instead. "So you plead guilty?" The judge seemed rather surprised, as if he didn't think it would be that easy to get a confession out of the young man.

"I don't have many choices, now do I?" he answered coldly. "I was caught at the crime scene."

"Watch your tongue, lad. This is a court, not your circle of friends," the judge informed him. Like he didn't know that; he didn't _have_ a circle of friends anymore. There was a moment's pause, as if they were letting him some time to retort, but he did not. "Very well. We will discuss your verdict, taking into consideration your easy admission. Guards, guide him back to his cell until we finish our debate on the matter."

With these simple words, two sets of strong arms, stronger than he'd been even when he was eating properly and playing Quidditch, held onto him and forced him up from his chair. He murmured something about the use of unnecessary force and a potential lawsuit at the bruises his delicate skin would show as a result but was ruthlessly silenced before he was hauled back to the cell where he spent his last three nights. It was the most time he'd spent in any one place recently, and it was already almost tempting to call it "home"; almost, but he wasn't that desperate just yet.

He was called back into the large hall not even thirty minutes later. The _click! _of a lock being unlocked tore him from the shallow sleep he had managed to drift into, and he lazily opened his eyes to see the guard signaling him to get up and follow him. Draco did so, sluggishly throwing his legs to the side of the bed and forcing himself up before he dragged himself out, pausing when the guard delayed to lock the door again. The blond looked at him from behind, his Slytherin mind coming up with cunning plans to escape, knowing that even though his hands were tied and he was deprived of his only weapon – his wand – it would still be relatively easy to get away. The guard didn't seem trained enough to deal with an unexpected attack. Draco almost seriously considered going with it, but the acknowledgment that he'd probably be caught no longer than a few minutes after the deed, brought back to his cell with his actions reported to the judges, and the obvious outcome of his punishment being worse than originally planned stopped him. It wasn't really worth it, he thought, as the guard turned again and led him through the corridors. There was too much to lose, and too little a chance of gaining anything.

The great doors opened for him and the guard gestured for him to step inside. He was led – by a different officer – towards the centre of the hall again, only this time there was no chair for him to sit in. He stood there, facing the panel of judges with expressionless face. Whatever they had to say, he wasn't going to like it, and there would probably be nothing he could do about it.

"Malfoy Lucius Draco."

The sound of his full name, containing the name of the father who brought him this low, burned his ears. He grimaced at the ring of it.

"We have debated on your case, and found you guilty of several robberies. However," Draco looked up, his right eyebrow arched up. _However?_ "We took into consideration your circumstances, your confession and your young age, and we've decided not to imprison you. Instead, you are to do communal service for four months, ten hours a day, amounted to one thousand hours in total, at a shelter for abandoned children. Your service will start tomorrow morning. You will be escorted from your cell to the location, where you will be given the rest of the instructions. Court dismissed," the judge announced, and hit the table with a little gavel, therefore ending the meeting. The same guard that got him there grabbed his arm and led him back to his cell.

This time, Draco was too astonished to resist or say anything to protest the amount of force with which he was being dealt. Community service? Him? A Malfoy? To work with little kids? Who was the genius to come up with that plan? And what the hell would they expect him to do, a homeless man with absolutely no experience with children and a none existing example of fatherhood or correct behavior around young children?

It wasn't what he was expecting, not even close. He thought he was looking at years in prison, not four months of dealing with kids. Not that he was about to complain; assuming he was going to receive some sort of accommodation, it was way better than any other possible outcome from this unfortunate encounter with the police.

* * *

The morning followed his sleepless night. He was restless from wondering what would happen to him if he messed up, which was very likely to happen. More than that – he worried what might happen if he _won't_ mess this up. After four months, what was going to happen? Will they send him back to the streets on his own? Will everything go back to the way it was before, with him forced to turn to last resorts to get something to eat, eventually being caught again, and the whole routine would occur again?

The door to his cell was opened, and a ruthless voice ordered him to get up and get his ass out of there. Still wearing the prison clothing (his own clothes were way too torn to be worn again; he actually was thankful when he received the set provided to the prisoners and was ordered to take a shower. He was tired of looking so bad and smelling like his worse nightmares) he got up and followed the officer out. He was surprised they checked him out of the prison, and even more surprised when he was handed a brand new, clean set of clothes that were unrelated to the jail.

"Get dressed. We can't let the children see the person who's supposed to be their example looking like that. You have half an hour to look presentable; you have everything you need in the shower over there," he was pushed into a small room, looking around him to realize it was a shower room, equipped with shampoo and a razor to shave, as well as a soap and a towel. Of course, they wouldn't let him use magic yet. He wasn't sure he knew how to shave using a razor, but he could give it a shot. Even a few wounds were better than the thick hair he had grown on his face, and he'd love to lose it and be smooth again, like he was years ago.

He used everything that he was given, lingering on every moment he had in the shower. When he stepped out thirty minutes later, he felt like a new person. He wasn't this clean or this good smelling in over a year; perhaps even longer than that. Even when he could spend a night at an inn he usually didn't have the luxury of shampoo, forced to be satisfied with poor quality soap and, most of the time, ice cold water he could barely survive in longer than five minutes, just long enough to wash most of the filth off him. Now, being shaved (and surprisingly without any wounds), his hair cleaned from its dirt and greasiness, and wearing civilized clothes, he felt more like he did years ago when he had a home.

The guard cuffed his hands again, and led him out, looking rather satisfied with Draco's appearance. Once outside of the Ministry, he was almost immediately tucked into a car with darkened windows. He didn't even bother looking outside, too lost in his own thoughts to care where he was taken, but more busy with thinking about the future. When the car pulled to a stop and his door opened, he was surprised that not such a long time has passed that until they arrived at their destination; or maybe that shelter place wasn't far from the Ministry; either way, he didn't really care.

He was forced out of the car, and, looking around, he found himself standing in a street of a rather nice looking neighborhood. There were several houses with decent sized gardens spread down the road. He was standing in front of a house that didn't look so different from the others, except there were more child related facilities in the garden; a couple of swings, a slide, and some sort of climbing wall he was unfamiliar with. The sight brought sadness to his heart, remembering the time he was a little boy and how he wanted to escape the limits of the mansion, how he longed to play outside, to feel the wind brushing against his skin and mussing his hair. But he was never allowed to. His father was very strict; learn, do your duties, and serve. That was his life as a child – except for the rare occasion when his father was out long enough for Narcissa to have the courage to take him outside; then he enjoyed it, treasuring every stolen moment of real childhood.

The sound of a door opening, and then the loud voices of kids laughing and rushing outside tore him from his grim memories, and he glanced up. The man at his side spoke.

"These kids are all Muggle born."

Draco swallowed. Was it some kind of sick joke? No matter how much time has passed, no matter that they lost the war that he didn't even believed in, he was still raised to hate Mudbloods and think of them as inferior to him. The judges knew that; obviously they did. His name and features, no matter how destroyed by rough times, gave it away immediately. So _this_ was why his punishment was so light… they were trying to re-educate him. Well, fuck.

"Their parents abandoned them at the first signs of magic, too scared to hold onto their own child. This is where we step in, collect them and bring them here," he gestured at the house with the kid-filled garden. "Their ages vary, from six to eleven when they go to Hogwarts. We give them shelter, teach them about our world, and educate them to be human beings."

Draco frowned. What did he have to do with that? He wasn't fit to deal with abandoned children. Especially not Muggleborns.

"We have a supervisor here, she would explain everything I couldn't and will guide you through with these kids. She's very talented, and very smart. She has a good heart, and I'm sure she'll gladly help you with anything you need. I'll call her," he said, and was about to turn from him when he paused. "Almost forgot," he said, and with a single word released his hands from the cuffs. Draco was surprised; even though he was sentenced to help a bunch of mudbloods, he was still a criminal. Weren't they afraid he'd try to escape? But then the man said another spell word and a bracelet appeared on Draco's wrist, looking more like a piece of jewelry than something prisoner-related. "Don't bother trying to run away, Malfoy. This thing will let the Ministry know if you're making any foul move, and will guide us right to you in such a case. You'd better behave. You got off easy, anyway. There are many people in the ministry who would love to see you locked up where your father is, but the judge decided this was a more fit punishment… it's beyond me why, but I'm not going to argue. But I am warning you – one wrong step and no one will have any mercy to spare for you. Wait right here," he added, and without waiting for any kind of response from Draco he walked away.

Great. So now he was marked. He examined the piece of metal on his wrist. It was nothing special, but it felt cold and annoying against his skin. It was a delicate way to imprison him, but useful nonetheless. He was sure they won't be stupid enough to hand him his wand back, at least not before those damned four months ended, and the spell that kept it intact was probably strong enough and complicated enough so that no one except the authorized personnel would be able to remove it. He didn't like that, he didn't like feeling… _owned_.

He looked up from his bracelet when he heard footsteps drawing near to see two figures – one was the guard from the Ministry, and the other was a young woman with bushy hair. There was something familiar about her, but she was still too far from him to attach a name to that figure.

"Mr. Malfoy, meet out project manager, Miss Hermione Granger. She will be in charge of you from now on, until you fulfill the amount of time you're supposed to. Hermione, good luck, and thank you for doing this. If he misbehaves let the Ministry know immediately, although he had been warned to behave. Good bye."

The man gave a last glance at Draco before he advanced towards the car that brought them there, but the blond didn't even notice him.

_No. Fucking. Way._ He thought to himself, and knew his disdain was probably more than just visible on his face. Out of all the people in the world – Granger. The mudblood, Granger. The girl who, despite being a Muggleborn, outsmarted him in almost every subject at school simply because she was a bloody book worm. Granger, the teachers' pet and Potter's best friend. Despite the common sense that told him endlessly it was his father fault, Draco could never shake the feeling that if it wasn't for Potter, his family would still be intact. He would still have a living mother who loved him, and a (somewhat) sane father who probably loved him, in his own twisted way. He'd still have a home to live in; a roof over his head, a comfortable bed to rest his body, and enough food to nourish his body. If it wasn't for Potter, he'd still have his life, and he wouldn't have to face that girl – who was now a grown woman – in the lowest moment of his life, given at her mercy.

"What had the war done to you?" he heard her ask. Her voice was just as he remembered, but was adorned with a fine line of knowledge that could come only with age. He had grown, but stayed the same, if not retreated. She, on the other hand, was in a better place in her life. A manager of what seemed to be an important Ministry project. She was probably making good money, perhaps having a family – at the age of twenty three, he wouldn't be surprised if she already had a child of her own.

Stubbornly, perhaps more so than he was used to be during the last few years, and with his arrogance being invoked back into life as it was when he was still a teenager at school, he narrowed his eyes at her. "Here to mock me, Granger?" he spat, and saw her expression change from one of worry to that of cold distance.

"Here to tell you what to do. See these kids?" she gestured at the garden behind her, where the children were still happily playing. "They were abandoned, because of people like _you_, just from the other side. People who were too scared of something they _didn't know_," the blame in her voice was clear like the sun on a bright summer day. "And now they're here, and two women who are working here and I are their only parents. It would be your job to make them feel _wanted_," she emphasized the word, and he frowned at that. "And loved. We teach them about magic, so I expect you to do your part. Who knows, maybe your stuck up lineage might actually work for our advantage here, as you can teach them about living in a magical family. You will be here ten hours a day, with one day off a week, approximately. I understand you don't really have where to stay, is that right?"

She was looking at him, but Draco couldn't bring himself to admit that. Her presence brought back his school days, along with the arrogance, pride and hatred he possessed then. "That's none of your business," he spat at her, his words bitingly cold.

"You might want it to be my business, as I was just about to tell you about your new home." She wasn't taken aback even one bit by his behavior, which surprised the blond. He was expecting her to lose her temper easily, to slap him, to tell him to fuck off and call the cops to take him back to prison, where he belonged. But she didn't; her patience was amazing, leaving him at loss of words. She reached into her pocket, pulling something out and handing it to him. Draco frowned, examining it carefully. "It's a key to a hotel room. The Ministry guards will escort you there when your work here is done, and will bring you here the next morning. I assume they already told you there's no point in trying to escape, right?" she gestured at the silvery jewelry on his wrist. "So let's get to work. Don't move from my side and listen to everything I say, either to you or to the children. You're not going to be glued to me the entire time you're here, and there's a lot of work to do. Am I making myself clear?"

Annoyed, Draco's mouth clenched to a thin line before he felt he had enough control not to punch her, wishing he could hex her and swearing in his heart for the lack of his wand. "Sure, boss." She would have been an idiot not to hear the cynical tone of his voice, though he knew she wasn't one; but she ignored it altogether.

She nodded and turned, guiding him towards the garden. _What a horrible nightmare,_ Draco thought as he followed her against his will. He was almost sure he'd prefer being locked up in Azkaban than doing _this_. Almost.

**END OF FIRST CHAPTER**

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**A/N:** Thanks for reading and getting all the way to the end! Hope it wasn't too tiring...

Please let me know in the reviews what you thought of it, for better or worse. It helps me keep going, and I always read and take whatever is said into account. Thank you!


	4. Chapter 3 - Challenged

**A/N: **I'm so, SO sorry this took so long! I got so caught up with the FMA fandom that I kinda forgot about this one... I deeply apologize for the delay. I hope I can be forgiven for it^^""

Either way, I'm going to try and update this one regularly, maybe once in two weeks? I'll try. Please be patient with me, I get really obsessive with new stuff so right now my mind is full of Edward Elric and I have my school.. but I'm going to do my best okay?

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 3 – Challenged**

Morning rays penetrated his eyelids, forcing Draco to frown, shut his eyes close tightly and turn to his other side with his blanket pulled over his head. He was just about to fall asleep again when he felt a pulse run through his body, jerking all his muscles awake. He almost let out a surprised cry, but, despite everything he'd been through, he was still a Malfoy. He hissed a swear instead and opened up his eyes, glaring at the silvery piece of jewelry on his wrist. The vibration started from his wrist, and so it was safe to assume that bracelet was to blame. A second later he recalled the officer who drove him here telling him something about it being some sort of an alarm clock, to let him know when to wake up, when the car was here to pick him up, and no, he had no say on the matter. That only meant he was to expect at least one more bolt to run through him, and the routine would repeat itself every day for the next four months. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed to be more like torture than a practical act, and he wondered if it was even ethical. Probably not; but he probably couldn't do a thing about it either, and will just have to suck it up. It took him another moment before he gathered enough strength and will to take his eyes off it, and glanced around him.

The room wasn't big, but it wasn't small either. The space in whic his bed lay was the only room he had, except for a tiny bathroom and an even tinier toilet. His room had a little kitchen area; about a squared meter of space that contained a small desk where he could, if he wanted to, prepare food; a little stove where he could boil water or cook said food, and underneath it all, a minuscule refrigerator to keep whatever he was cooking.

He didn't plan to use any of it.

A single, petite window adorned the one wall he had that was an outer wall, and a light, pale coloured veil covered it, preventing the outside world from seeing him when he moved around. Too bad it didn't stop the damn sun from disturbing his sleep.

It was the best place he'd slept in in years, but it was in no way luxurious. However, it was surprising at first to look at his surroundings, even with his slumber-coated eyes. Waking up in a warm, somewhat comfortable bed with peaceful dreams had made him think that he'd open his eyes to see his old room at the manor, his tired mind unable to match the too obvious present of the metal bracelet on his wrist with the unavoidable past, allowing him a short moment of blissful ignorance before the connections in his brain stirred into work again and reminded him of his unfortunate situation. That also explained the brutal way in which he was awaken by; the ministry probably set the bloody thing to wake him up on time to go to that horrible place.

Draco groaned, and turned to lie on his back, staring at the white ceiling over his head. He knew he should be thankful. He was presented with mercy, his punishment considerably lighter than he expected, and yet he dreaded the moment he'd have to face that place again. It's not that working there was that bad; it was relatively easy. Granger didn't force him to play with the children, and his main occupation was cleaning up and making sure no kid accidently killed himself. He could live with that, but his pride was damaged beyond repair by it. Not only was he confined, tied like a dog on a portable leash, but he was forced to take orders from a Mudblood, taking care of other Mudbloods, and all of that while pretending not only that he didn't mind doing that but that he actually _enjoyed_ it.

It wasn't difficult; it was _impossible_.

Closing his eyes, he let out a sigh before opening them again and forcing his body up to a sitting position. He remained like that for another moment, lingering to the warmth of the bed a little longer. It was the first time he slept in a bed, a real bed and not one that was littered with rats and Merlin knows what else, in over a year. The sheets were clean and smelled nice – not like the scent he remembered from home, but more resembling what he was forced to use back when he was still a student at Hogwarts. He used to complain all the time about the conditions there, asking his father why he was forced to stay there with the other low-lives and why wasn't he receiving any special treatment for being a Malfoy. Now, the simple room that was probably about to serve him as his home resembled an indulging resort in his mind.

He got up on his feet and started opening the buttons of his pajamas – the ministry was kind enough to leave him some on the bed; it was a little too big, but he couldn't really complain about being given clothes – completing the task on his way to the shower and shrugging it off just before he entered the small room. No one would mind if he left it lying there on the floor, and he didn't feel like folding it. He was going to pick up and put in place enough items today; there was no need to add something as useless as his clothes to that list.

The second pulse ran through his body long before he was ready; and he swore at it, but took his sweet time nonetheless. He was just pulling up his pants and buttoning them when his door was mercilessly thrown open, and a very angry wizard was staring at him. Draco knew it was bad, but he wasn't going to let it get to him, the firm education he received in his childhood still too bold in his veins.

"Ever heard on knocking?" he asked coldly, buttoning up the last button in his pants and now turning to put on his shirt.

"Don't let the coziness go to your head, Malfoy. You're still a prisoner, and your privacy means nothing as long as you are one. You were signaled to get to the car more than five minutes ago. You're lucky I'm not dragging your sorry arse back to the Wizengamot and throwing you to the Dementors, but I've got my orders."

"Yeah, you aren't the only one who wants to throw me into prison, don't feel so bloody special. Fine, I'm ready." That was a lie; how could he ever be ready to face another day in that place? Was it possible for a human being to acknowledge this level of his own loss of dignity? But pride and confidence were long gone by now, becoming a distant dream he knew was once true, but not anymore; not for him. For now all he could do was move on and deal with it, fuck the world and fuck his own morals. Life were more important, and if dealing with stupid little mudblood kids and one smartass bitch for four months was what it took to regain his freedom then he'd just have to suck it up for a while and wish for the best. After all, what has he had left, other than hope?

Nothing.

The wizard waited for him to step outside of the little room, and once he was out in the corridor he closed the door and started walking towards the exit. Draco followed him, obedient and silent like a well trained dog. He was pushed into the car with more violence than was necessary – like he didn't know struggling would be useless. The streets of London passed by, glimpses of life he could barely decipher showing through the car's windows, running way too fast for him to notice anything in particular, but the nausea that rose within him as a result wasn't enough to tear his eyes away from the sight. What else did he have to do? The inside of the car was even more depressing.

It was almost a relief when the vehicle finally stopped and his door was opened, the wizard ordering him to get out. He obeyed, trying to step out as gracefully as possible. There was no one who might appreciate it, but it was important to him; if nothing else, he wanted to at least preserve a shred of the dignity he used to be so proud of. Once he was out, the wizard officer shot him a disdainful look, and ordered him to follow whatever Granger was telling him before he got back in the car and drove away.

Draco turned his eyes from the disappearing car, and looked at the house before him. Everything was exactly the same as the day before, the kids playing outside, Granger walking around them, probably offering support and consolation to those who needed it. He vaguely wondered, as he crossed the distance to the little shelter house, if one day he'd be expected to do that too, and strongly wished he won't. He'd always been bad with people of any kind, the only relationships he managed to have started and ended with the leader-followers type. He never had any real friends – Gregory and Vincent were no closer to him than the rest of the world, well aware of their role in his life: serve and protect. With Zabini, he was always on bad terms, always competing for something, not knowing exactly what that something was and he was pretty sure the other boy had no idea as well. Pansy Parkinson; she might have fallen to the 'friendship class' in his little circle of minions, having grown up together since they were kids and dating for a while. But even that affiliation was fake, artificial. None of them chose each other, they were driven together by their parents. They knew each other's secrets and have shared much more than a stupid Yule Ball back in forth year, but they never said anything about feelings. It was all about obligation and teenage heat, and nothing more.

No, 'friend' was a term Draco was simply not familiar with. Now, after two years of living completely on his own, he was pretty sure he'd forgotten even the simplest way of civilized communication with people he could actually tolerate. Forcing him to give any kind of comfort to a bunch of mudblood kids – that was beyond insane. It was plain stupid.

He walked until he reached the little yard, and entered it. For a short moment, no one noticed him and he wondered how long he'll manage to just stand there and do nothing. Being bored to death was a way better option than getting to work and being useful, but it didn't take long before a kid – he looked about nine years old, but he'll be damned if he knew for sure – noticed him, eyed him for a moment before turning his big eyes away and yelling Granger's name. She immediately looked up from whatever she was doing and looked at the child with worried face. A small finger pointed at him, closely followed by a pair of brown eyes, and his presence became known and the little break he intended to steal was gone when Granger started walking towards him.

"Welcome back," she said when she was close enough for him to hear her without the volume of a shout, and she paused when she was about two meters away from him – enough distance to show him he still wasn't really welcomed. Not that he wanted to be, but it was still painful.

He let out a short hum, allowing that short, uncommitted sound be the only greeting he'd offer, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Cleaning again?" he asked coldly, glancing around. The previous day he spent hours rearranging after the children, making sure there were no dangers lying around, and cleaning their lunch dishes. Without magic. It was a nightmare. Why on earth weren't the stupid little brats picking up after themselves? They were definitely old enough to, and wasn't it good for their education to force them to clean up their own mess? They'd grow up to be ungrateful, spoiled and annoying otherwise. Like him.

But he couldn't complain; not really. He was given disgusting chores, that's for sure, but he was also given a job and a house, with clean clothes and three meals a day to accompany it – all of that instead of rotting in Azkaban with his father yelling and screaming in the next cell, which would probably end with him sinking down the same road.

"Well, of course," Hermione wore her business expression; he recognized it from school, meeting it countless times in Potions classes when Severus started explaining a new potion, or a new powerful ingredient. He had no idea why she always looked so concentrated when he explained; the damned girl read so bloody much that she had enough knowledge to cover at least three lessons ahead, from the way she always knew the answer to the professor's question. He always hated her for that – the stupid mudblood who made all the purebloods look stupid just because she didn't have anything other to do than read. Bloody well it worked for her.

"But today Riza is sick, so I'm going to have you to watch over the kids as well. I know it's a bit early… but they're good kids, they don't do any trouble usually. Let me handle anything that looks big to you, okay?"

"Whatever," he said. Well, she was going to be there with him, so he could just throw whatever the snotty brats do wrong at her and not deal with it. He swallowed, repeating that in his mind and ignoring the annoying feeling in his guts that something was going to go wrong.

He was right. It didn't take longer than an hour for the children to start making a mess on a scale he didn't even know existed. He didn't remember himself fighting with other kids over things like who gets to play with the stupid yellow toy car instead of the blue one. But then again, he never really _had_ any other children to play with but the sons and daughters of the Death Eaters, and they have all been perfectly educated for hierarchy and respect, and so no such problems arouse. When they did fight, it was for much better reasons; like who would get to decide how to torture the next Mudblood or Muggle their parents brought home for them to play with… and learn to hate.

Pretty quickly Draco learned that he couldn't run to Hermione with every little fight the little bastards had, as her hands were as packed as his with the kids. She was running between them, helping them and kindly talking to them, God knows about what, while he was stuck dealing with the idiots who fought over nothing. After the first ninety minutes, during which he had to pull apart at least thirty children – and there weren't even thirty children in the damned shelter, he already started to lose his patience. There wasn't a single time he actually knew what to do about it, trying in vain to make the children stop fighting and give him a break, and failing miserably every time. He was on the verge of swearing and hitting the tiny creatures when Hermione kept popping at his side, gently, but firmly, pushing him away from the kids while solving the problem herself and giving him an annoyed look afterwards.

Draco had a very bad feeling about it. It wasn't that he wanted to do well, or, Merlin forbid, impress the stupid mudblood. But he also knew that this was the best thing that could have happened to him since he got caught and put on trial; just like that officer had said the day before, he got off easy. If he screws this up… no, he didn't want to think about it. He couldn't spend the rest of his life in Azkaban, or a mental house for what being in Azkaban would do to him.

He was dwelling on these gloomy thoughts when he noticed a child crying, somewhere on the other side of the yard. There were three more kids around him, but they seemed to be perfectly fine. Lost, Draco searched for the damned Mudblood, but she was still busy with the other kid he couldn't help to. He knew he had to do something, especially if he valued his sanity. He was torn inside: he knew, beyond any doubt, there was no one as unfitting as him to comfort a child. He wasn't good with kids, and he'd proven it today. He hated them, and they hated him. However, he really didn't feel like giving up this opportunity of life and throw it all away just because he was a coward. Besides, the last thing he wanted was to render himself even more pathetic than what he already was. If he couldn't even deal with a few tears, then what was he worth? After he'd proven that in real life he wasn't any better, then the answer would probably be, _nothing._

Draco let out a sigh, and walked towards the crying boy. He looked about nine, but hell if he was actually right about the age. On his way there, he tried to think of ways to console the kid. He tried to think about himself when he was younger: what did his parents do when he cried? But then he realized that acting according to them might not be a good idea; the physical scars from his father's punishments might have been fully recovered by now, but mentally he still felt them and they still ached. He had no other example to learn from. All his friends had been the same, brought up by the same kind of people, and in Hogwarts… after that time in first year, when he accidently found himself in the middle of nowhere with Centaurs that threatened his life he didn't dare showing any weaknesses anymore.

Well then, he'd have to trust his instincts… or hope someone better than him would reach there before him and take care of the situation.

Unfortunately, that did not happen.

"Loser! Like you'll ever succeed in anything! Even your parents threw you away!" Draco could hear the other kids calling towards the crying one, and could hear the broken answer the latter tried. He was pathetic, his words nothing more than a meaningless defense that even he himself didn't believe. Draco remembered the time when he was the same: he was never very good with retorts. Never good with witty comebacks, at least until he grew up and forced himself to learn so he won't seem as pathetic as he felt around Potter.

No, he really wasn't the right person for it…

"Hey!" He called, now close enough to the little group to address them. Four little, round faces turned towards him, one of them red and swollen and the others twisted in a mean expression. "Stop that," Draco said, and sounded stupid even to himself. Why would they listen to him? He had no authority over them, and he didn't even care about them.

One of the kids pointed at the crying boy. "HE started it!"

The other two nodded, while the crying one just seemed to cry harder. Draco rolled his eyes. There was a reason he didn't like children. "That doesn't give you the right to hurt him. If someone does something, you should go and tell Gr – Hermione," he corrected himself, and felt how the name tasted bad on his lips. He did his best to conceal his bitterness, knowing it wasn't a good idea to show the little brats what he really thought of the woman. "Or me. Understood?" He was using his most authoritative voice, and, surprisingly enough, it worked. The three harassing kids looked down to the floor, looking well scolded. "Good. Now go away and find something nice to do before I tell Gr – Hermione about what you did."

The three nodded, and ran away. Draco let out a sigh. He couldn't believe this actually worked, but even though it did, he still wasn't done. There was still a bawling child to deal with, and that was the hardest part. Sure, he could be scary, but could he be sensitive and soothing?

"Hey," he said, forcing his voice to be soft as he walked towards the remaining boy, and placed a hand on his shoulder. It felt weird, and he hoped he was doing the right thing. "Don't listen to kids like them, okay?" The words felt cheesy, wrong. This was all too cliché for him, it couldn't be right…

"But they said my parents didn't love me and that's why I'm here!"

"Well – " Draco started, and then paused. What, for Merlin's sake, could he say to that? It was true. And Draco, even though he was a damn good liar, thought it'd be wrong to lie right now. He glanced around, and saw that Granger was still busy somewhere else. He already started, and there was no escape now. "They're idiots."

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**A/N:** Please leave a review to let me know what you think! This one was particularly hard to write and I'm not sure Draco is IC enough and would appreciate every opinion!

Thank you:)


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